Of Broken Crowns
by Chronicle98
Summary: 10 years after the events of Game of Thrones, Arya Stark returns home to Westeros from her travels to the west. There's little time for celebration however as she must see the King straight away, and not for a family reunion.
1. Arya 1

The wind blew gales into the sides of the boat, shaking it violently and near ripping the masts apart. The men who were still alive were scrambling, trying to keep it moving and overall afloat as canonfire blasted wood and splinters here and there.

Arya collected the last of the documents and threw them all into her knapsack that she slung over her shoulder before she burst out of her quarters onto the main deck of the ship. To her right by the sie lay a man with half his face missing; he must've caught a canon head on, literally. She didn't have time to worry about that right now, though. They were gaining.

She grabbed the closest sailor to her and yelled, "WHERE'S THE CAPTAIN!?"

"Up on the wheel, m'lady!" he cried before another explosion of timber blew them away. Arya slid across the deck to the wide, where the railing had been destroyed, nearly falling off. She took out catspaw and dug it into the wood of the deck, saving herself from plunging to the violent sea water. She tugged on it and oulled herself back to a standing position, just as another man slid past her, off the ship and into the water. Back on her feet, she made her way up to the captain who was on the wheel. She nearly slid on each step that was covered in water from the horrible storm.

Finally, she reached the top, just as another canon flew through the wood, just barely missing the wheel, and the man on it.

"Lady Stark! You should be below!" said the Captain, a man in his forties with a dusty white beard and a scar across his left eye.

"How fare are we from Feastfires!?" she asked.

"Under a day, which is more'n enough time for them to catch up!"

Arya looked behind them to the two black ships that were on their tail, and gaining fast.

"If they catch us, we're fucked," said the first mate.

"We're fucked already!" yelled the Captain, just before a canon flew right through where his head was, sending blood everywhere and his now lifeless body to flop to the ground.

Arya looked from him to the first mate, who stood almost frozen, and scared.

"ABANDON SHIP!" he bellowed and ran for the side, leaping off.

Arya looked below to see the other sailors beginning to follow his orders and leave their posts. It was a losing battle. The ship was dying.

Arya went downstairs to the main deck, nearly slipping down several times, and went to the side, starboard as the Captain had called it. Below, the water looked rapid and ravenous, but the ship was getting even worse.

She prayed to whatever gods would listen right now, took a deep breath, and leaped off, into the water. Unable to see for the salt, she swam upwards, and came above the surface where she inhaled deeply. The water and waves were violent, thrashing her here and there.

She looked about for something. Anything.

A small timber column drifted over the waves nearby. She swam to it with the little energy she had left, and threw her arms over it. Lightning struck and thunder rumbled in the storm above. Everything was furious. Arya closed her eyes, and thought of home. Of real home.

_~ Sometime later ~_

She drifted slowly to the edge of the water, onto the sand. It was damp, but solid. She felt it graze her face.

It couldv'e been hours she laid there. She didn't have the energy to move. Soon enough though, she heard voices calling, and hands grab and move her over.

"Are you alright, m'dear?!" a woman's voice asked.

"Where'd she come from?" a little boy's voice asked.

"She must've been ship wrecked. Pirates, got to be," said a man.

Arya slowly opened her eyelids, trying to see, though all was blurry.

"I need to see my brother..." she barely choked out, "I need to see the king."


	2. Bran 1

Bran looked out over the White City, the new capital of Westeros, rebuilt from the remains of King's Landing. It had not been long since he'd awoken, just as the sun had risen over Westeros and the light had begun to pour in through his window. Outside, it shined on the houses and buildings that had been reconstructed with new white stone.

People still remembered the old city, before the destruction. Ever since his coronation though, Bran had seen to it that the city had been restored, though not as well and not to as greater heights as many had seen over ten years prior.

Documents lay spread over his table, detailing funds for reconstruction, criminal cases, tax derivations, and many other things he would have to attend to over the course of the day. Upon some of the papers and parchments lay his crown, silver with blue sapphires, and a wolf's head decorating the front. He scratched his beard pondering the long hours he would have to spend wearigng it.

Out the window, he noticed a flock of birds that were flying over the city. He squinted his eyes and focused on one for a moment, before he took its mind. He was then a bird, high above the streets and houses of Visenya's Hill, the ones that still stood and stood once more.

People were just awakening and beginning to go about their businesses; produce stalls, blacksmiths on the street of steel, whores in the brothels. Bran glided downward to fly through the streets and alleys. It was exhilerating.

He went under an arch, through an apple stand, over a group of children, and finally came to rest on the top of the mud gate, overlooking Blackwater Bay. The water reflected the risen sun, and the light poured over the white city.

"Long enough," he thought to himself before returning to his own mind, back in the King's Tower in the White Keep. Just in time too, as a knock came to the door.

"Come in," he answered, and in followed Ser Podrick Payne. He wore the natural armour of the King's Guard, the silver steel armour with the blue cloak flowing behind. Over the years, Bran had not given much care to the look of things, preferring instead practicality. It was why he liked Podrick Payne.

"Good morning Sire," greeted Pod with an innocent smile, "I've been sent to escort you to-"

"To the throne room for the begining of the crown's matters that I must attend, as you are every day, Pod," said Bran, "well, we'd best not keep everyone waiting."

Pod nodded, and came to Bran's chair to push him down to the main hall, where no doubt an audience was waiting with a day's length of matters for him to attend to.

In the main hall, Bran saw the members of his small council, each in their own seats; Tyrion, his Hand, leafing through some pages of a rather large book. Next to him, Ser Davos Seaworth, the master of ships. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Brienne of Tarth stood there as well, speaking to her Kingsguard.

It was odd that people still called it a throne room, he thought, since there isn't a throne anymore; the remnants of the iron throne had been melted and collected, taken away. Bran had it used in aid to the restoration, in any way he could, as well as the production of weapons and armour for his Kingsguard and city watch. It was just metal, which he would tell anyone who asked him about it.

The only throne really was his wheelchair, which wasn't very glamorous, but that aligned with his beliefs well; it wasn't the chair, or the halls, or even the fancy crown. The true importance rested on who the King was. He hoped these ideas would be passed down to the next King, when the day would come.

"Your grace," began Tyrion as soon as he noticed him, "a good morning to you."

"Same to you, Lord Hand," returned Bran as he was wheeled into the central position at the head of the hall, "now that we're all here, shall we begin?"

"At once, your grace," returned Tyrion, and they began the day in court. People came to Bran to bring him this matter or that; reconstruction, revenue, crimes, each of which needed his aid to deal with. Bran dealt with each, giving money and denying it where he needed, sending men and retaining them where he needed, saying yes and saying no where he needed. His duty. His job.

It took all morning for Bran and his council to sort the court; the sun had risen high, and was just passing midday, when there came one particular person that caught Bran's particular interest. A sailor with scars across his face that seemed quite freshly cut. His clothes were raggedy; he had the look of a fisherman.

"Your Grace," he said as he knelt down in front of Bran, "I come greaved for the death of my son; we, that is, me and my son as well as the crew were victim to a pirate attack. We were fishmongering off the coast of Seagard, when a ship, great and beastly, set upon us. The men swarmed us, killed my crew, and my son..."

"You have our condolenses mr..." asked Tyrion.

"Beld, my Lord, Beld Finmonger."

"Mr Finmonger, people everywhere experience pirate attacks all the time. Our King and Lord of Boats, Ser Davos Seaworth, have attended to this increased matter before."

"True, my Lord, but these were no ordinary pirates..."

"Greyjoys?" asked Bran.

The fisherman nodded, "they bore the Greyjoy cracken, yes."

Bran sighed, rubbing his eyes as Davos and Tyrion turned to him at the same time.

"It seems that despite speaking with the Lady of Pyke, she is want to do nothing," complained Tyrion.

"Do you wish me to send her a letter, your Grace?" asked his Lord of Boats.

"No. I will write one myself this time. Seems she wants my direct attention," said Bran before turning back to the fisherman.

"You have my condolences for your son, Mr Finmonger, and for the lives of your crew. Though I do possess power, it is not within it to bring your ship back or restore your dead to life. But perhaps I can give you justice. I'll dispatch men to deal with this group of raiders."

"Thank you, your magnificence, thank you."

The fisherman was escorted from the hall before the next one was brought forward.

"We should send men to Seagard, sire?" asked Davos.

"No, I will try and find them myself first, see where they're headed, if they are..."

Wait. Who is that?

"... your grace?" asked Tyrion.

Is it her? Is that really her?

"King Brandon?" said Davos.

Bran slowly turned to Tyrion, "I can see her. I can see her again."

Davos and Tyrion looked at each other confused.

"See who?" asked Tyrion, and Bran turned to him.

"Arya."

**Author's Notes:**

Welcome everyone to **Of Broken Crowns**, the story of what happened 10 years after the events of **Game of Thrones**. As you know so far, Arya has just returned, and Bran is still King of the now White City. It's not as glamorous and magnificent as King's Landing but it is still the Capital.

Before you ask, yes, I'm writing a Game of Thrones fanfiction, and ideally I should've put this at the end of the first chapter. I don't really know how I'm doing this so I'm sorta figuring it out as I go along. I do have a plot in mind, this is going somewhere, don't worry! Right now it's early days but things are beginning to pick up, like just where the hell did Arya come from? Who was she running from? Why does she need to see the King urgently?

Let's just say I wasn't amused with the ending of the show as I'm sure many weren't, and an idea came to me of what could happen afterwards, and so I'm doing this :) guess you'll have to read on to find out (*INSERT EVIL LAUGH*)

I should warn all that this will be more graphic, more violent, and more profane (eventually) than my other fanfic, Chronicles of the Dragonborn, but I hope it will be good and fun. I know these chapters are small but I'm still getting this on it's feet, and I'm hoping once it is that it's something real good.

I'll put in who characters are but in basic terms so everyone knows who's who (not loads of details though cos GRRM is like... wikipedia in each character):

Arya: the youngest of the (alive) Starks, daughter to Ned Stark and sister to King Bran. Now in her upper twenties, she is still a skilled assassin with talents that I want to make use of in this story

Bran: the only living male Stark, son of Ned Stark, and current King of Westeros. In the show he was quite separated if that's a good word, in this, he's become more humane and slightly returned to his character over the 10 years that have passed

Tyrion: the Hand of the King, son of Tywin Lannister, and one of the smartest men in Westeros (which I will make him again in this tale)

Ser Davos Seaworth: the Lord of Boats, one of the best characters in the show, was like a father to Shireen (*Wipes tear*)

Beld Finmonger: a simple fisherman at Seagard

Thanks for reading. If you want, drop me a review. You're the critic here ;)


	3. Arya 2

She awoke to the sound of seagulls outside the window, followed by the strong winds blowing overseas. Her body ached, as if shaken and twisted like a ragdoll and thrown to the floor. Useless. Which is what she was at that moment. It hurt even trying to move onto her side, even more so trying to sit up. Her clothes had been removed, save for her trousers, and her breasts were covered with a bandage that also went over her right shoulder.

Out the window, the sky was grey, but in the distance she could see a much darker shade approaching; a storm on its way. Looking around the room, she scanned for her things. Unbeknownst to her, a little boy had been watching her from nearby; he had damp brown hair and a curious look to his deep brown eyes. Arya just stared at him for a moment, before the sound of footsteps brought a knock to the door.

"M'dear? Are you awake?" asked a woman's voice, before she let herself in. She was holding some folded clothes in both her hands. She had the same damp hair of the boy, though of a lighter colour, and a rather large nose above tiny lips. Her eyes made up for it though. Once she laid them on the boy though, she wore a tempered look.

"What're you doin in here!? Leave the poor girl be!"

The boy darted out, but didn't miss the whack from the woman on his head as he left.

"Naughty!" she called out after him before shutting the door bluntly behind her.

"Sorry about that," she said in a calmed manner, "boys growin up, he ain't never seen a comely lass 'round 'ere before. Hope he didn't scare you."

"No," replied Arya, though her voice came out in a croak, "thank you."

"Afraid I ain't got that many dresses 'round here, m'lady, though these should do better'n the rags them pirates had you in," she offered the clothes in her arms.

"Thank you, but where are my clothes?" asked Arya. She didn't want to be rude.

"Havin a wash, they'll be back to you soon. Don't worry either, twas me who dressed your wounds so none of that business from any grown men neither, made sure of it."

"Thank you," Arya accepted the clothes. From the bundle were barely any dresses so her spirits were lifted somewhat; she donned a pair of leggings, a fairly dirty grey shirt and some ragged heeled boots. Much better, she thought. When she tried to stand though, the strength in her legs almost gave out and she went off balance. The woman caught her just as she fell.

"Alright, just give it a bit," said the woman, "take it easy. I hope the pirates didn't ravage you too badly."

Arya looked up at her confused, "pirates?"

"Aye, when you washed up, you were mumblin nonsense about seeing your brother the King. I can imagine they didn't treat you so well, m'lady."

Arya furrowed in thought, trying to salvage all her memories. And then she did. The chase on the water. The beach. Bran. Her bag!

"Yes, uh... can I ask, I had a knapsack with me, didn't I?"

"Aye, m'lady. But it was filled with wet papers. My husband was going to bring it to our lord for reading later today."

"NO!" Arya's outburst almost threw her offbalance again, but the woman held her up and tight. She saw the woman's look of cnfusion though.

"I'm sorry, I... they're just... they're private. My own."

"Ohhh I'm sorry, m'lady, didn't know you could read. I'll go fetch him now, you stay here."

"No, it's okay. I'll come with you."

"Are you sure?"

Arya nodded. She needed to get back on her feet. And soon.

She walked with the woman's help out of her room and down the stairs to what she assumed was the living room; a fire was burning under a chimney and the boy from earlier was playing by it. Once he saw Arya and the woman though, he turned completely and watched.

"Tommy, where's your father?"

The boy pointed to the door just as a man walked in through it from outside. He shut it quickly and shivered a moment before taking off his hat and moving to sit down, until he saw Arya.

"Oh... good mornin, miss. Good to see you up and awake."

He had a small blade strapped to his side. Needle.

"Is that my sword?"

"One you knicked from the pirates? Aye, that was mighty brave of you, miss. It's been real helpful today though. Wanted to ask if it's alright with you if I-"

"Hamming, give her her things!" the woman thundered, causing a look of slight anger and obedience from the man who sighed.

"Oh alright woman!" he moaned as he took Needle off from his belt and came over to hand it to Arya, who took it firmly.

"Got to say though, hell of a blade Miss. Must've taken it from the Captain, am I right? Damn fuckin Greyjoys, raping and pillaging as they go. Not to offend, Miss, that is, don't want to remind you of what you went through."

"Hamming, you still have that bag of hers, don't you?" asked the woman.

"The what? Ohhh yes, in the corner, over there," he motioned with his thumb, and the boy noticed the bag. He went to grab it, until the woman stopped him.

"Tommy! Bring it here," she ordered.

The boy reluctantly obeyed, and walked over with it in his hands.

"Give it to the lady," commanded who Arya was fairly sure was his mother, and he came over to her, holding it up.

Arya took it, "thank you," she said, and the boy smiled.

"Are you a lady, miss?" asked the man.

Arya looked up, silent for a moment.

"It's probably best you don't know who I am."

"Can we have your name at least? After all, we took you in from that beach-"

"Hamming!" thundered the woman.

"It's Arya," she said, "I'm sorry about the secresy, but it's just a precaution."

A moment of silence passed, before the woman spoke up.

"Well, I'm Meren. That charming old fat man over there is my husband, Hamming, and that's our boy, Tommy. He's not usually this quiet, he's just a little shy around you."

Arya smiled, "it's nice to meet you all. Thank you for all you've done, really. But I have to go. There's something impotant I have to do."

"Go? Now? You can barely stand," argued the woman as Arya broke off from her.

"I'll be fi-" she fell over almsot instantly after.

"Oh Gods!"

"Come on, let's get you up," said the man as Arya felt hands on her begin to help her back up.

"You're in no fit state to do anything," the woman told her, "stay for a bit, rest, and when you're ready you can be on your way. Now let's get you something to eat."

Arya submitted and went with the husband and wife for some food.

"Can you tell us where you live?" asked Meren.

"Nowhere," she answered.

"Nowhere?" asked the man.

"You must have a home somewhere. Everyone has a home," added the wife, "where is yours?"

Arya was silent for a moment, before she finally answered, "north."

**Author's Notes:**

Been a bit of a wait huh? I know, I know, what am I doing. I'm sorry, just returned to University, and it's been a pretty hectic few weeks for me, trying to settle in and get my work done and trying to juggle a lot of things in my life. But I'm glad I finally found five minutes to get back to this. I do enjoy doing these chapters and I'm excited to write more, but instead of my usual nonsense, I'm gonna say I'll try to write more sooner, but be prepared for it to be a while; trying to balance my work, my studies, my social life, and everything else is taking a lot of time but I'll do my best to find time to write more of this sooner. But again, it could be a while till I write another so thank you for your patience.

So Arya is recuperating in a house of strangers by the sea, though she's eager to get up and out there as soon as she can. The family assume she was kidnapped or attacked by pirates, but she's reluctant to tell anyone the truth. Which is what exactly? You'll have to wait to find out hehe.

Anyways, thanks for reading, decided I'll only include character bios when they're significant characters from Game of Thrones or if it is really required. Unless you want them at the end of every chapter. Tell me in the comments.

Thanks again, and I'll see you all in the next one.


	4. Jon 1

Jon pulled the furs of his clothes closer as he trudged through the snow on the slope of a northern mountain. The morning winds greeted his body as an old friend; he was more than used to it by now, as he would wake up hot in the morning and need the cool breeze to cool him down. Sometimes it made him think of how he would ever hold up down south again. Not that that would ever happen.

The tracks on the ground led on, and luckily the snow hadn't yet erased them. Looking out afar, he could see no trace of the deer though. This one had led him on quite the trek. He'd been following it so long; it was nearing midday. He wondered if he was still in the boundaries of his territory.

He enjoyed it though; to finally have a break from his work. An occasional morning hunt would remind him of his olden days as a member of the Night's Watch. He wasn't fond of the bloodshed then, but he'd be lying if he said the nature of his current occupation didn't make him miss swinging a sword.

His sword, Longclaw, was still strapped to his side, as it always was. But rarely did he have need to use it. Being the elder of his tribe, his days were filled more with politics and less with action. Though the politics he dealt with weren't on the same level as a Lord of the southern kingdoms; Wildlings answered to no one, and only when a dispute occurred in the tribe that would lead to bloodshed would he be summoned to take care of the matter, and find a solution that worked best for all parties. His word was respected, especially since the bulk of his tribe were those that sided with him first when…

Years ago, he brushed off. Not worth thinking about. What is worth thinking about is where this bloody deer is.

A little further, the mountain sloped down to a frozen lake, where he could see in the distance; the deer. He pulled a bow off his shoulders and crept down the mountain, slowly edging himself toward the creature. It raised its head and he stopped, still as a wolf ready to pounce on its prey. It went back to the ground, and Jon pulled an arrow out.

He nocked it.

The deer raised its head.

He pulled back the string.

He released.

An hour later he arrived back at the camp. People were busy going about their day, working hard. Children ran by, playing, before their mother grabbed them and told them to stop messing around. Jon smiled; it reminded him of his childhood slightly. He used to think Catelyn was hard on him. Now at this age, he only remembered the good parts.

He came to his tent and dropped the deer at Lorran's feet.

"Good hunt, eh, boy?" the old man asked.

Jon smiled, "reckon you could make a stew out of this?"

"Lad, I've been doing it all the time since you showed me, almost better. Yes, I'll have one ready with this. Good work, boy."

No one else at the tribe called him boy or lad, except Tormund, but he was busy dealing with some other tribesmen who had entered their territory. He agreed to go and do the talking for Jon this time, to which Jon was very grateful.

"Thank you, Lorran," said Jon.

"That Shisha is waiting for you again," said Lorran.

Jon turned back to him, and Lorran continued, "you know, you aren't getting any younger."

Jon raised an eyebrow, "neither is she."

"You think she'll move on, but he's a stubborn one Jon, I keep telling you. Why don't you just take her and be done with it? She'll carry a child for you, then that'll likely be it."

Jon looked at Lorran, "how's that stew coming?"

Lorran scrunched up his face, "fine, you old sad codger. She's a fit one, is all I'm saying."

Jon turned back and entered his tent, where the woman, Shisha, was as Lorran said waiting, a peace of meat in her hand. Shisha was quite a bit younger than Jon, with bronze hair and deep hazel eyes, owning an old scar from a wolf that had attacked her as a young child, though she had her hair tied back, very proud to show it. She was a comely woman, and stubborn as any northern girl. But she respected strong will, although she was equally attracted to it.

"Jon, you're back. I was wondering when you'd finish on your hunt. How'd it go?" she asked.

"Well," answered Jon, putting his bow and arrows on the table.

"You chased that deer? I've had my eye on it for weeks. I should've come with you, we could've gone after it together."

Jon looked up, "I just wanted some peace and quiet for a change."

"Mmmm," answered Shisha, who slowly walked over.

"I don't think anyone's coming in now," she added.

Jon looked up. He hated having to keep turning her down. She was very persistent.

"I-" he began, before she instantly pushed herself against him, kissing him. She grabbed his face and continued, almost pushing him onto the table. Jon reciprocated, but only for a moment. Then he grabbed her hips and pushed her away. She tried again to come at him, but Jon held her back. That earned frustration from her.

"Why are you so against me? Do I not look good enough for you?"

"Shisha, you're… it's not that…"

"What is it then?" she demanded.

Just as she said that, someone walked into the tent. It was Tormund, and two other men.

"Ohhh," said the big bear of a man, "I hope I'm not interrupting."

Shisha looked back at Jon, before standing back up and making for the tent door, Tormund moving aside for her. As she got there, she turned back,

"We're not getting any younger, Jon."

And with that, she left, leaving Jon Tormund and the two other wildlings, Rister and Storn, alone together.

Tormund laughed, "she came at you again, eh?"

Jon leaned back up off the table, "why are you here? I thought you were dealing with the other tribesmen?"

"We were. Turns out they weren't invading; they were chasing one of their own. Young one, we found him and brought him back."

"Why was he here?"

"I don't know," said Tormund as he poured himself some ale and sat down, "but I didn't care to ask. They took him and left, and all's good again."

Jon smiled. Rister and Storn, twin brothers that were good at hunting, turned and left.

"You and that Shisha girl trying it on?" asked Tormund with the hint of a smile.

"No," answered Jon.

"Ah, she trying it on with you?"

"For what must be the thousandth time, yes," answered Jon as he drank some ale of his own.

Tormund scoffed, "of all the men I've known, you're the only one that pushes a fit girl away from fucking," he drank some of his ale.

"She'll find someone else," said Jon.

"She wants _you_," said Tormund, "I've been on a few hunts with that lass before, I know when she wants something, she goes for it."

Jon sighed.

"By all the gods, she'd carry a child for you, and wouldn't give a shit if you were there or not."

Jon drank some more ale.

"She's not the first woman I've seen you push away."

Jon looked at Tormund, without speaking. Tormund recognised this look and dropped it, continuing to drink his ale.

"How was your hunt?" asked the ginger bear.

Jon turned up to him, but suddenly Tormund dropped his ale.

Jon looked at him oddly, "Tormund?"

Tormund shook a little bit, and his eyes went white, before he suddenly became still, and looked at Jon.

"Jon. You have to go to Winterfell. It's time for us to come together again."

Jon furrowed his eyebrows, before he realised, "Bran?"

"Ride with haste. We will meet you there."

Suddenly, Tormund shook again and he looked about, confused, before seeing his spilt ale, "ah fuck sake."


End file.
